


Reason for Being

by Pyrowarfare



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Military, No Starscourge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 19:56:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19092028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyrowarfare/pseuds/Pyrowarfare
Summary: An FFXV AU in which there was never a starscourge, but the Lucian family ends up with power for a different reason, with a different prophecy. Noctis finds himself as a young, inexperienced king in the throes of an escalating war with Niflheim.





	Reason for Being

The rattling of the intricate jewelry strewn across Noctis’ shoulders are like chimes to his ears. Every little golden skull, heavily embellished with hand-etched floral patterns, brush against his cloak with each precise snap of his heel against the heavily polished tiles of the citadel. Each footfall is measured, exactly inline with the strict scheduling that is the result of weeks of planning. This is in stark contrast to the thrum of Noctis’s heart. It beats rapidly, reverberating through his skull in its intensity. In the grand hallway that stretches before him, the cacophony of noise seems all-encompassing.

 

Behind him, Noctis can hear the clatter of boots belonging to the upper echelon of the citadel’s nobles and Crownsguard. Despite their number, the noise seems faint, drowned out by the buzz of anticipation crackling in the air. At his right hand side, the heavier stomps of his Shield, Gladio, ring out louder than the light clacks of Ignis, his advisor. Noctis eyes them both in brief glances. Gladio is a mountain of a man, chiseled through a lifetime of swordsmanship in dedication to the crown. His strong jaw is set slightly forwards in his focus, his clear protective instincts leaving him scouring their surroundings for threats to Noctis’ life. To his left, Ignis is all sharp angles, from the ridge of his nose to his willowy form. The formal Crownsguard uniform that both Gladio and Ignis don is tight and black, and is perfectly tailored to Ignis’ height and size.  Adorned with the skull that stands as the crest for the Lucian royal family, the coat’s silver buttons are fastened despite the blistering height summer has brought to Insomnia. 

 

Bringing his dark blue eyes up to meet Ignis’ striking emerald, it’s only through years of brotherhood that Noctis can pick out the faint lines of anxiety beneath the older man’s perfectly schooled composure and layers of expertly applied makeup. Noctis can feel a sheen of sweat pricking through his own foundation, despite it having been less than an hour since all of the work had been done. There’s a moment of ressaurance that passes unsaid between prince and advisor, before they both steel their expressions, eyes staring down the path before them. 

 

As the party continues their forward march, the grand doors to the citadel’s courtyard loom. Despite their expert construction, Noctis can begin to hear the clamouring of Lucian citizens beyond the polished black glass. The roaring in his ears surges, his heart thrumming so quickly, it’s almost painful in its sharp movements beneath his ribs. 

 

It’s not like he hasn’t prepared for this moment. From the moment Noctis was born, the implications of what his birth truly meant has always been clear to him. That, one day, his father would die. That, one day, it will all be left to him, a child that never asked for any of it. Noctis thinks back to the dozens of manila folders strewn haphazardly across his bedroom floor, to the lectures in needlessly extravagant private classrooms on manners and military and protocol. As a prince, it all seemed like unnecessary knowledge, more appropriate for a looming future event that would come someday in his thirties, maybe even forties, was he lucky. It was much easier to simply try and ignore it all, leaving it for that imminent time, for later. 

 

But later was now, and he was here. Even still, it wasn’t as if the coronation itself was the exact moment in which his life would change forever. In reality, Noctis had been acting as king for almost a month now, from the moment Regis drew his final, failing breath. Nothing would change, aside from gaining a spindly crown in his hair. Noctis absentmindedly thumbled the calluses on his middle right finger. Even the Ring of the Lucii had been snug around his finger up until a few hours ago, where it had been removed in preparation for the ceremony. During the coronation, it would be officially placed in his care. It seemed ridiculous, all of this just for show. A grand display for his people. 

 

Despite everything -the lifetime of grooming for his new role, and having already been acquainted with his new title and responsibilities- the gnawing of worry and doubt was ever persistent. As they drew up to the doors, Noctis paused a few feet away. The roar of his blood was deafening in his ears, but he drew himself up straighter. The hammering in his chest was all he could he feel, but he gathered his expression into one befitting of the king he was to be crowned as. Puffing out his chest and drawing in one large gulp of air, Noctis signalled to the guards before him, as they swung open the doors.

  
  


The cheers immediately rose to a crescendo. Noctis had underestimated just how well the citadel’s sound insulating clearly was; the ocean of bodies were in such a clamour that he felt as if his feet had sunk into cement at the sheer chaos of it all. The entire courtyard, which was usually reserved for a handful of vehicles and guards at a time, was completely swarmed with citizens. They were held back by his Crownsguard, who stood a few metres from the foot of the stairs in a strong barricade. At the top of the sprawling expanse of steps, Noctis found him robotically moving forward, stuck on instinct. He found himself eyeing the structures encompassing the courtyard, staring out through the open gates and into the city beyond. The crowd stretched out for as far as he could see. 

 

Noctis was vaguely aware of the procession of events, but couldn’t bring himself to focus beyond the cacophony in his mind. He spotted a mother clutching her baby to her chest near the front of the congregation. The baby's fingers were interwoven in the fabric of its parent’s shirt, face twisted in an individual cry he stood no chance of picking out over the roar. Noctis let his gaze drift once more. There, on the right side of the courtyard, a group of pigeons had gathered. He could vaguely make out their forms, pacing atop the walls that held dozens of glossy windows. Noctis could imagine the sun dipping in the sky, the elaborate after parties having already begun indoors, and the pigeons gorging themselves on all the leftovers of a messy crowd. Breaking away from the birds, Noctis’ eye wandered again. By the left gate, a blaze of fire caught his attention, immediately surging upwards with flames licking the air under the heat of the afternoon sun. 

 

Wait. Fire? Noctis felt fingers dig painfully into his shoulders, dragging him backwards. Another pair of hands joined the first, clasping onto the jacket of his kingly raiment. A swarm of bodies surged in front of him, blocking his view. However, he could still see the pillar of horribly black smoke twisting and spiralling into the air, noticing that it was joined by two more from the north, and just as quickly by the east. 

 

Stumbling, Noctis tried to get his feet under him as he was none-too-gently forced backwards into the citadel. The smell of cooked meat just barely reached his nose as the doors to the citadel were quickly drawn in. Slowly, Noctis managed to turn his head, spotting Gladio and Ignis clutching onto him. Beneath their perfectly drawn on faces, the prince could see their sickly pallor, and the reality of what he’d just seen slowly began to dig its claws into his mind. 

 

Listening past the buzzing in his ears, Noctis could see the citadel vaulting into action. There was Clarus, greying and ancient next his successors, speaking into an earpiece. Around him, the Crownsguard were drawing heavy metal shutters over the windows and doors, while others were herding around him and his party, ushering him backwards and further into the depths of the citadel. As Noctis felt the blood leaving his face, and the sensation of needle tips blooming under his skin, he managed to get his feet under him, running along in step with Gladio and Ignis, deep into the depths of the citadel.


End file.
